Life is
by Shaynie
Summary: Sam figures out how hard college life really is when he first makes it to Stanford.


The raindrops were the first surprise. The day had been clear up to sun down, and even then there were few clouds in the sky. As the bus was hurtling through traffic fat drops began to fall timorously against the windshield, then with more confidence, slamming against the wipers as if there was a battle to be fought.

But there were no battles to fight here. Or, not the kind he was used to.

Sam sat on the bus, half hunched in on himself, though he still kept track of the other people out of the corner of his eye. A couple engrossed in a wonderfully pedantic discussion on the merits of the Aristotelian discourse, completely ignoring everyone around them and having almost exhibitionistic brain sex, some goth chicks in the backseat proclaiming their disdain for Britney Spears. There were a few more dour looking single passenger, all holding on to their purses, or covering their pockets, as if in fear of being mugged on the bus.

There generally wasn't much to worry about in the area, but people could never be too careful, and here paranoia was sold by the ounce on television. Sam carried nothing on him of importance; a much dog eared picture of their entire family in one pocket, from before the fire, and some bus tokens in the other. Most of the stuff he needed he could easily get on campus, but he needed to figure out the bus system if he ever wanted to really get the feel for where he was living. He tried to ignore the nagging feeling that he was staking out the city in case he had to run. He didn't have to do that anymore. He lived here. He had a home here.

Where he was i living /i , his /i home /i . It was going to be weird living anywhere for more than two weeks, but it would be good once he made some friends, when he got a job.

His scholarship included everything. It was full ride. Full ride scholarships don't always include housing. His didn't include housing. But he'd known that when he applied for Stanford. He'd known that when he got on the bus without a place to live. Stanford was going to have to be worth giving up his family. Having a life would have to be worth it.

First year students at Stanford i had /i to stay in residence. He had lied to them, claiming he had family in the area and that he had to stay with them. They hadn't been happy with it, but he was going in on a scholarship, and he had managed to get a few bursaries to cover text books as well. They knew he came from a "low income" family. They didn't push it.

So Sam had expected to find a cheap dive somewhere close to Stanford. It hadn't been easy, but there was a few places his non-existent budget could cover. The transit in the Bay area was fairly well organized. There had been times when they had all gone without food, before John had realized how easy it was to scam a credit card company, or how good Dean really was at pool. But that was before. How hard it would be to live without even a crappy motel room to crash at was his second surprise. He couldn't just crash wherever until he got a job. So he had gotten a student loan. It was enough for the first two months.

The rain continued to lash against the windows, drenching the surrounding countryside in little rivulets, obscuring the view from him. Sam turned and sat staring straight ahead, his neck forced to turn almost all the way to the right to do so. They were close to his i home /i . Close enough he could get out and walk, but still a little ways off.

When the bus stopped he almost didn't realize it was him that had pressed the bright red "STOP" button, and part of him was still sitting in a closed in hunch while his body was stalking off the bus. Part of him was still with Dean, sitting in the Impala sleeping while his brother was driving. Part of him was researching something for his Dad. Part of him was still in Kansas, was still only a few months old.

Splat.

The first raindrops in his hair grounded him in reality. The warm lights streaming out of the bus slowly sped off after dropping him off, eventually leaving him on an empty road. The bus stop had been a full shelter this morning, but the heavy sheet glass had been kicked out at some point between then and now. There were still little pieces of it spidering patterns in the glass remaining.

Sam grunted a bit and pulled the hood of his worn sweatshirt over his head. There was, thankfully, no wind so he started walking home. The worst he would get is a little damp.

He looked up, feeling the water splash his face a bit, and smiled.

The falling rain obscured the buildings around him a bit, but that was alright. He knew the buildings were a little run down, most of them were small, commercial businesses. The street lights were dingy, but this place was no worse than anywhere his father had taken him as a child, and he could protect himself from most things. It wasn't much, but it was his.

He trudged along through the rain, turning towards his apartment. The metal door had graffiti all over it, most of it illegible, and grime covered the edges of it. The key stuck in the lock, and it took Sam five tries before the door opened.

The hallway up (the apartment was over a tea shop of some sort), was full of peeling floral wallpaper and a sort of yellowy light. The carpet was brown and worn black in some spots, with small stones liberally strewn about. It smelled stale, but it was warmer than the damp air outside. Sam took the stairs quickly, and unlocked his door.

He kicked off his shoes, and stripped the damp hoodie off throwing it on the ground. He had no furniture other than what the landlord left in here, a table, a stove, a fridge, and a little book shelf, all in the little room where his sleeping bag was set up. The bathroom was off in the corner, and had the minimum there to make it functional. The shower mostly had hot water, so Sam didn't generally complain.

He flipped a light on, and noticed that there was a package on the table, with a post-it attached.

i They delivered this downstairs accidentally. Hope things are going well. /i 

Sam smiled a bit. Though the area wasn't the nicest, Agnes his landlord, the sixty something proprietor of the store, was wonderfully caring and checked on him repeatedly.

The parcel on the other hand was confusing. The only people he knew were never going to talk to him again. He'd called and left a message on Dean's cell phone two weeks ago, saying he had made it, but that was it. There was no way for Dean to have found his address. His dad wouldn't have cared, so there really was no way.

He opened the package carefully, and was surprised to see his brother's scrawly script inside.

i Thought you might need this. The guy at the store said it was the best you could get. - Dean /i 

There were a couple of hundreds sitting inside the paper, and...Sam's eyes widened.

A laptop. Dean had sent him a laptop. He looked over the box, and was surprised to see the thing was pretty much top of the line. New programs, everything already installed... everything. His technology impaired brother had i bought /i him a laptop.

Sam shook his head. There was no way he could afford it. He took it out of the packaging, intending to send it back. The money he would keep, he needed it, and even if he didn't want to accept charity from Dean, until he found a job there was no way he would be able to feed himself.

A note fell out from under the laptop as he pulled it out.

i I wouldn't have bought it if Dad and I didn't have the money, retard. Keep it. /i 


End file.
